


that special brew

by nastally



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Comfort, Freddie just wanted a nice cuppa, Froger Week 2020, Gen, Humour, Male Friendship, Marijuana, Or platonic, Pre-Slash, and they were ROOMMATES, casual touching, whichever you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/pseuds/nastally
Summary: It's winter 1969, and Roger, Geoff and Tupp come home to their flatshare in Ferry Road only to find Freddie in a bit of a... state.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 49
Kudos: 50
Collections: The Froger Week 2020





	that special brew

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally wanted to write this ever since I first read about this story. And, of course, I made it Froger! Enjoy!
> 
> Prompts: Smile Era/60s hippies
> 
> _[Geoff] Higgins [of Ibex] reveals that ‘At Kensington market we’d get a regular supply of marijuana which was mixed with jasmine tea, and once home we’d take turns to separate the grass from the tea. Years later Freddie was heavily into cocaine, but in those days he wouldn’t go near dope of any kind. One day “Tupp” took home the tea but dumped it, still all mixed together, by the kettle and went straight out. Freddie came home and made himself a pot of tea. God! By the time we got in he was completely out of his head. ‘His prized album was Only In It for the Money, and one track features a noise like a stylus scraping across the disc. He was freaking out to this album and busy wheeling about the flat waving his arms around when he heard the scraping noise and dashed straight to the record to examine it, thinking somebody had scratched his precious LP. He was well gone that day.’_
> 
> Big thank you to QuirkySubject for beta-reading! ❤️ And another big thanks to emmaandorlando for hosting it!! ❤️❤️

\- - -

It _was_ pretty funny, although Roger was trying very hard not to laugh in the face of such honest distress, no matter how comical. 

Meanwhile, there were titters coming from the kitchen. Goeff and Tupp appeared in the doorway, Tupp holding up a small, brown paper bag, giving it an indicative little shake. Geoff pointed to it for good measure, a grimace of barely contained amusement on his face. _Oh, Jesus Christ_ , Roger thought. Well, that definitely shed a bit of light on the situation. As the two Liverpudlians ducked away again, snorting with laughter, Roger’s eyes returned to Freddie, who wasn't paying any of them much mind at the moment. 

“Wait, wait… wait, shh!” His voice was insistent and clipped, but there was a clumsiness about him, a sort of untidiness that seemed entirely off. He was staring at the spinning record intently, stooped over the record player so low his hair was almost touching the vinyl. At least he wasn’t yelling now, which was a bit of an improvement.

The needle was dropped back into the same place yet again. 

"Listen!" One long, slender finger flew up into the air, the word hissed with wounded outrage in Roger’s direction. "Listen, _there_!" Freddie sank to his knees beside the record player, furious and inconsolable. "There it is!” His head swivelled in Roger’s direction, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me you can’t bloody well hear that!" 

"Fred," Roger started carefully, pressing his lips together to school his face into a neutral expression as he crouched down beside his roommate. Freddie’s eyes locked on to him, dilated pupils making them appear dark as night. 

"I knew it, Roger, I told you! I fucking _knew_ this would happen if I- I left it out with the others records!” He didn't seem capable of looking at any one thing for an extended amount of time and once he'd started rambling again, his gaze straying to the Hendrix poster on the wall, his empty tea mug beside the record player and eventually back to the record. “No one, _no one_ here takes care of anything and- well, I don't care! In fact, you know what?" 

"Um, Freddie-" 

"I don't give a single damn! If none of _you_ take care of your records, you can- can just go right ahead and ruin them for all I care!” 

"Freddie." Roger said, more firmly this time. When he tried to put a hand on Freddie's shoulder, the other man accidentally slapped it out of the way, gesticulating wildly. 

“But I won't have you scratching up mine! If _anyone_ \- if I find out who-” His face crumpled as anger suddenly turned to despair, and one of his hands flew up to his mouth. “I can't believe someone's gone and scratched it…"

“Oh my God, _listen_ to me.” Roger finally cut him off, grabbing him by the shoulder successfully this time, and that seemed to get Freddie’s attention. He immediately pulled himself free, blinking rapidly at Roger. Christ, he was so out of it he looked completely loopy. Roger had rarely seen his hair so tousled, aside from first thing in the morning. He had to bite back a smile at the image of Freddie just pacing the living room for God knows how long before they’d even walked in. All but tearing his hair out because he thought someone had ruined his favourite record. “There’s nothing wrong with your-”

“Yes, there is!” Rather predictably, Freddie flared up again when he noticed he wasn’t being taken entirely seriously. “It’s not _funny_!”

"There’s nothing wrong with your album!” Roger exclaimed quickly before he could be interrupted again, eyes flicking over to the doorway where Geoff’s head had just appeared again.

“Yes, there bloody well is!” Freddie followed his gaze instinctively, glancing back over his shoulder. “Can’t you hear it!?” He was very nearly shouting again, cheeks flushed, gesturing at the record player as he looked back and forth between them. “It’s- it’s that, kshhh, can’t you- can’t you bloody hear-”

“I can, Freddie!” Roger shouted back, as he couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise without raising his voice. “That’s- hey, will you _look_ at me. That’s always been there.” He leaned in closer to get Freddie to focus on him for a second while Geoff wandered over and perched down on the armrest of the sofa, watching the situation unfold with interest. 

“Don't be ridiculous, it hasn’t… what?” Freddie faltered and shook his head with a frown, confused but not convinced. 

“It’s part of the song," Roger assured him. “It’s always been there.” Trying to sound sympathetic and serious, he added: “Freddie, you’re... I think you might be high?”

With a dramatic double-take, Freddie drew back, staring first at him, and then at Geoff, who raised his eyebrows.

"Piss off!” The growing confusion on his face gave way to affront the next moment. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Did ye 'ave a nice cuppa while we was out?" asked Geoff.

“Yes?” Freddie squinted at him as though he’d asked the most uncalled-for, nonsensical question imaginable. “Look, there’s plenty left in the bag, I only had-” 

“Mate,” Roger sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It wasn’t jus’ tea!” Geoff cut in with a snort of laughter. “It’s full o’ grass, la.”

“It was-” Freddie started, still primed to argue his point passionately, but then froze, gaping at Geoff. At last, the penny dropped. “Oh shit,” Freddie uttered in a toneless voice. 

“Yeh,” Geoff chuckled. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Shit,” Freddie repeated, and blanched, collapsing from his knees down to sitting on the floor.

“‘adn’t separated it yet.” Geoff shrugged helplessly at Roger. “Gon’ ter do it now.” And with that he got up and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Roger to deal with the situation.

“Put the kettle on, will you?” Roger called after him. Geoff gave him a thumbs up without looking back. 

A cup of _actual_ tea, nice and strong, was probably a good idea, Roger figured. His best idea at the moment. He turned back to Freddie only to find him with his head in his hands. 

"Look," he said, trying to form a plan of action. "Let’s get you some water, yeah? Just… hang on." It wasn't much, but it was all Roger could think to do for now. Freddie nodded faintly and Roger gave him a last, reassuring pat on the back before he rose to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, too. Geoff and Tupp were still in stitches, so much so that they weren't even upset about the dope they were now missing. 

Roger on the other hand no longer felt like it was much of a laughing matter. After all, Freddie really wasn't keen on all that stuff. Dope, acid. He wouldn't even touch regular tobacco, for Christ's sake, and barely ever got drunk. Which was kind of also what made it so funny, Roger realised, but he was starting to feel genuinely bad for Freddie. Especially when he returned to the living room with a glass of water and his friend hadn’t moved, still sitting beside the record player, fingers buried in his hair, breathing noisily through his nose.

“Got you some water.” Roger sat down beside him and scooted closer, laying a hand on his back. “You alright?”

“No.” Freddie made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, only to lean back in a second later, clutching the sleeve of Roger’s jumper. “I can feel my heart,” he informed him and swallowed, meeting his eyes. His gaze was fearful and positively piercing, as though he’d decided Roger had the answers he was looking for. “Roger, it doesn’t feel right.”

“Er… it’s fine, probably?” said Roger. “Here, have some-”

“It’s not _fine_!” Freddie’s voice jumped in both volume and pitch, laced with panic. “I- I had two cups of that- that _shit_ \- oh God. Oh God, it feels _weird_ , Roger, like it’s- it’s- it’s all- Roger!” He tugged on Roger’s jumper again, as if to keep him from leaving, even though Roger wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Fred.” He put a hand on top of Freddie’s, trying to hold his gaze which kept wandering. 

“What if I’m dying?” Pale and horrified, Freddie lowered his face into his hand with a pitiful moan.

“You’re not- oh, bloody hell.” Roger put the glass down and wrapped an arm around Freddie’s shoulders tightly while his friend started rocking back and forth, drawing rapid, shuddering breaths. “You’re not dying, alright? A bad trip won’t kill you.”

“How do you _know_?” Freddie whined, his voice teetering close to tearful. “I _drank_ it, you’re not meant to drink it,” he gasped and swallowed thickly. “Oh God, ohgodohgod-”

“Hey, hey, no… come on, breathe, yeah? Breathe...” Alright, this had definitely stopped being funny now. Roger muttered soothing words, rubbing Freddie’s back while cold tendrils of fear crept up on him, too, in spite of himself. People didn't die from this. Right? In all fairness, it wasn’t as though he had a whole lot of experience with the stuff Tupp always bought at the market, and he certainly couldn’t think of anyone he knew who’d ever drunk it. “You’ll be alright,” he assured Freddie, nervously eyeing the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Uh, guys? Hey! Guys?”

Tupp leaned in through the doorway, holding a ham and cheese sarnie. “‘ow’s it goin’ in there?”

“He’s gonna be fine, right?” asked Roger, trying not to let on that he was getting a bit worried, what with Freddie hyperventilating beside him, weakly muttering a string of variations of ‘oh God’ under his breath.

“Yeh, ‘e’ll be right as rain inna blind bit,” Tupp waved a hand and disappeared again, taking a bite of his sandwich. He didn’t sound concerned, so that was good, Roger figured. 

“See? You’ll be fine,” he told Freddie, hugging him a little tighter. “I promise, okay?”

Freddie made a noise that could have been vague agreement or despair, Roger wasn’t sure. He’d be fine, _of course_ he’d be fine. In fact, Roger recalled that time he’d had a bad trip himself once. That had been pretty fucking awful, actually. And it’d felt like it was never going to end.

“It’ll go away, you just gotta wait it out. Let’s go to the bedroom, eh?” he suggested, patting the other man on the shoulder.

Freddie shook his head at first, then nodded and sniffed with a barely audible, “Okay.”

“Alright. Come on, then.” Roger almost kicked over the glass of water trying to help him up, and remembered to grab it at the last moment, pushing it into Freddie’s hand. “Drink some.”

“It’s like the music’s so far inside my head I can’t hear it properly,” Freddie mumbled, bringing it up to his lips, and took a small sip. He paused, staring down at the glass, then proceeded to empty half of it.

“There you go.” Roger took it back from him and slowly steered him towards their bedroom door. 

“It’s all wrong,” Freddie shook his head, eyes glossy and distant. “God, it’s like- it’s like- oh, Roger, I _hate_ it.”

“Yeah,” Roger sighed, “it’s like that sometimes.”

“I hate it,” Freddie repeated in a small voice once they had entered the room, but at least he seemed to have calmed down some. He pulled away from Roger and sat down on his bed, moving all the way back against the wall and pulling his legs up to himself. His toes curled under as though his bare feet were cold and he tucked his arms close to his chest - albeit three years his senior, Roger couldn't help but think he looked like a little boy then, frightened of the dark. It _had_ gone dark in the room, this late in the afternoon. Freddie squinted when Roger flicked on the light, even though it wasn't exactly blinding, inside that dusty, old lampshade. 

“Do you wanna lie down?” he asked, hovering beside the bed for a moment, not quite sure what to do now. 

Freddie just shook his head, grimacing a little, and closed his eyes.

“Are you gonna be sick?”

Dark curls fell into Freddie’s face as he dropped his head forward and shook it side to side once more. Apparently he had now transitioned from uncontrollable babbling to mute. 

“Right… okay.” Roger decided to see about that tea, and turned to go. The door creaked when he pulled it open, which prompted Freddie’s head to snap up again.

“No, don’t-” he started in an urgent half-whisper, and cut himself off, looking at Roger imploringly. For a moment at least, before his gaze lost focus and he squeezed his eyes shut again, this time tilting it back against the wall. “My head is so…” The sentence finished not with words, but with a groan. 

“Back in a moment,” Roger told him. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Freddie croaked.

“You’ll be alright.”

However, Freddie’s tea - proper tea, the way they both liked it, two sugars and a splash of milk - went cold on the bedside table that evening. 

“Huh,” said Freddie, still sitting on his bed a while later, shoulder to shoulder with Roger, his legs folded up under himself while Roger’s were outstretched and crossed at the ankles. “You know the cars? Outside?”

“Yes, I know those.” Roger took a sip from his own mug.

Freddie tutted. “There’s sort of an echo, in my head… makes it sound like they’re driving right through the room.” 

"Right."

"Straight past us. It's unnerving." He had taken to picking at Roger’s sleeve and stroking it in turn, depending on just how agitated the thoughts running through his head made him. “I just don’t, God- I don’t understand why _anyone_ would do this for fun,” Freddie muttered, not for the first time, and shifted a little, lowering his head onto Roger’s shoulder. “I’m so heavy. Like- like a lump of clay. Or- or dough.”

“What,” Roger snorted quietly. Much as he hadn’t planned to spend the night listening to Freddie talking absolute rubbish, he wasn’t actually having a terrible time of it. Now that his friend was no longer paranoid about scratches on his record, or imminent death, his nonsensical stream of consciousness was actually kind of endearing.

“I’m dough,” Freddie lamented, breathing a little sigh, his mouth evidently just as reluctant to move as the rest of him, making his usually very slight lisp more pronounced. He glanced down at his fingers on Roger's sleeve. “This is so nice, isn’t it nice? Is it wool? It’s very soft. Gosh… How many sheep make a jumper, do you know?”

“Not a clue.”

“Me neither.” Freddie clucked his tongue, then giggled, struck by a new thought. “Oh, I mean, I don’t mean- not the _sheep_ , making the jumper. That is. Imagine that!” He clearly was imagining it, because he couldn’t stop giggling for a while. It was contagious and Roger chuckled, too, wondering if he should be writing some of this down just so he could tell Freddie about it later. “Isn’t that incredible though, if you think about it? That our clothes are made from tiny, tiny threads, millions and millions of them. Just millions of little… threads… all weaved together-" Freddie wiggled his fingers in the air, rotating his wrist with a little flourish. "- _perfectly_.”

“Yep,” Roger agreed, finishing his tea before he put his mug aside.

“It’s brilliant,” Freddie marvelled, “absolutely brilliant. Mmh… and it’s a lovely colour, too. Purple. Plum… purple plum. Sounds strange when you say it together like that.” He rolled the word around in his mouth for a bit. “Purrrple plum, purple plllllum. Did you know! There are more shades of purple than any other colour.”

“I did not know that.”

“Well, there you are.”

“Okay then.”

“But there’s no dark shade of yellow,” Freddie added sadly, and Roger had no idea how those two things were at all connected, but he didn’t have to dwell on it for long because Freddie promptly launched into a long description of a melody that was stuck in his head - this involved hums and whistles - and how frustrating it was that he couldn’t get it out of his head, because the end just wouldn’t come to him and it was driving him crazy. 

“I really don't think I know the song,” Roger had to admit eventually.

“Don’t be silly, darling.” Freddie’s fingers had migrated to his leg, fiddling with the loose threads of Roger’s torn jeans. He was tearing them more, but it seemed to soothe him, and the jeans were very old anyway. “It’s not a song _yet_ ,” he told him, as if it were obvious. “But it will be, one day.”

Then he went quiet again, closing his eyes and shaking his head with a little whimper, as though trying to dispel a bad dream he couldn’t shake. Roger figured the best thing might be to keep talking. And so he talked. About the sci-fi novel he was reading, about the times things had gone hilariously wrong when he’d been travelling around Cornwall with his first band (undoubtedly retelling stories Freddie had already heard), about which cars he was definitely going to buy when he was rich and famous. About the likelihood of a nuclear war with the Soviets and what a post-apocalyptic society might look like. Perhaps the latter wasn’t the best choice of topic, but Freddie seemed too mellow now to fly into a panic anymore.

“So long as there’s music,” he murmured faintly, and Roger noticed his hand had gone quite still, fingers fanned out on top of Roger’s thigh.

“Course there’ll be music. There’ll always be music.” 

Roger moved his head minutely, peering down at Freddie’s face. His eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed, his head a heavy weight on Roger’s shoulder. 

“Freddie,” Roger whispered. There was no reply. For a minute or two he wondered if he should rouse Freddie, or try to lie him down. Get him off his shoulder. It occurred to him dimly that he wouldn’t have liked any of the others to walk in on them like this. With Freddie curled up against him, asleep on his shoulder. They probably looked a little too friendly, like this. 

Except… it didn’t really feel all that weird, and if he was honest, he didn’t really want to get away all that desperately. In fact, he was glad that he had come home from the market just on time. Glad that Freddie hadn’t been left alone with Geoff and Tupp instead. It wasn’t that they weren't decent blokes and it wasn't that Roger thought Freddie needed looking after, particularly. He could hold his own. ‘Course he could. 

It was just that, had it been him, Roger thought, Freddie would’ve been there with him, too. 

Roger leaned his head back against the wall and resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. It was alright. If Freddie didn’t come around in the next half an hour or so he’d probably do something about it, because night was falling outside and the little warmth the winter sunlight had brought during the day, had all but seeped out of the room through the cracks in the window frames. But Freddie felt warm and soft, pressed into his side.

Roger became aware of the relative silence surrounding them, the sound of traffic outside. The others in the living room, playing a Led Zeppelin record and chatting. It sounded like the girls had come home, too. He could hear them laughing. Undoubtedly, Geoff and Tupp were filling them in on what had happened. Would someone poke their head in to check on them soon? Roger willed the others to leave them alone, just a bit longer. 

Freddie’s fingers twitched on his thigh.

To hell with it. Who cared if anyone came in? There was nothing to explain, nothing to justify. The others could stuff their opinions. He only hoped they’d put Freddie’s prized Zappa album back in its sleeve neatly. Because Freddie wasn’t wrong, he did take the best care of his records.

There was a tiny bit of movement against his shoulder, a hitched breath and a quiet snore that made him smile. 

It was that he was fond of Freddie, Roger thought. Awfully fond. And he hadn’t realised it before, not quite like this. But he found that it was impossible not to be.

Roger wiggled his cold toes, listening to the muffled sound of music through the wall. Thinking about purple sheep knitting jumpers and how mortified Freddie would likely be once he was himself again. But Roger would talk him round until he saw the funny side, too.

Because it _was_ pretty funny. After all.

He had very nearly drifted off to sleep too when Freddie suddenly drew a breath and lifted his head. "Rog."

Roger blinked and turned to look at him, eyes still half-closed. "Mmh."

"I've just realised something," Freddie mumbled, looking back at him blearily. 

"What?" Roger asked in a whisper. 

Freddie blinked slowly, peering at him through his thick, dark lashes. "’m absolutely _starving_.”

\- - -

**Author's Note:**

> I did not anticipate hOW F*CKING EXCITED I WOULD BE FOR THIS WEEK. XD GIVE ME ALL THE FROGER! AAAAHHH!
> 
> Ahem, I mean, I hope you enjoyed it! Make sure to check out everyone's Froger Week contributions this weekend and have fun! *throws confetti*


End file.
